The Lost Realm of Arnor
by ValandurOfArnor
Summary: The Lost Realm of Arnor is a multi-part story which follows the life of Mallor, a Dunedain soldier in service to Arthedain at the time of its destruction in 1974 T.A. This fanfiction was written by me back in 2010 on (at the age of 13!). It was unfortunately abandoned in late 2012, but I've decided to revisit it and share it with a broader audience.


**Book I**  
 **Scout**

Prologue: "The Dying Northern Realm".

I sat in silence as I flicked over the pages of my own personal history book. I'd had it since I was fourteen, sixteen years ago. It seemed like such a short time, but I knew the days had just blended together for the past few years.

I enjoyed reading about Arnor. From the days when we were little more than a colony, to the days we became a Kingdom, to the days when our realm shattered into three and the days when the Witch King struck us a deadly blow that left us isolated from our ally, Cardolan, except, they were probably all dead.

I don't know why I still call it Arnor, when it's really just us, Arthedain. I guess I'm just stuck in the past, in our glory days, as if I were there to experience it. Did we even have any glory days? For the last 500 years our Kingdom has been in sharp decline, and now it is barely more than a Kingdom.

I have maps that I used to study for hours and hours, watching how our borders shrunk and our neighbours succumbed to Angmar, one by one. I once saw a map of Arnor, and wondered, how did we start like that, and end up like this? Civil War? Angmar? Weak Kings? Has the strength of the Dunedain even forsaken those who have Dunedain blood flowing in their veins?

Every day I know we lay at Angmar's mercy, yet I do not know how we survive. Sure, the King's grandfather defeated Angmar in the field and expanded for a while, but for naught. We gained much, and then lost much more. Now even the walls of Fornost are not even safe. The servants of Angmar roam freely throughout our lands and we lack the power to stop it. Only these high walls protect us, only the doubt in our enemies minds keep us alive.

I don't need books or maps or stories from the elders.

I stood from my chair and shut the book.

For the last seven years I had been a Scout in the Arthedinian Army, offering my services in hopes that we can finally defeat Angmar. As a child I dreamt of glory, leading powerful armies to victory over the forces of Darkness, slaying scores of Orcs with my bare hands. Now I know it is just folly as I have seen the truth with my own eyes. Beyond the horizon, beyond the hills, the enemy musters, ready to deliver the killing blow after leaving us on our knees for hundreds of years. Ready to sever the head from the paralysed body.

I look out onto the streets and I see the people, they know it is bad, but how bad? The end is near and they do not know it. Despair is evil, but so is ignorance, but none of that matters. I only know that the fall of Arnor is near.

Chapter I: Present

The cold Autumn's air seemed to feel like pins sticking into my skin as I stood silently on the side of the boulevard.

It was April, 1972 TA, and I would probably spend the rest of this month in despair as I could once again see the worsening situation with my own two eyes. The squad of men I'm assigned to, ten men consisting of three archers, two horsemen and five infantry, would be leaving this month on a foray to the Weather Hills, where we could be able to spy upon the enemy's movements.

During Arveleg I's reign back in the late fourteenth century, the Weather Hills were the main line of defence against Angmar and Rhudaur, whilst Cardolan protected the Great East Road and the South Downs. In 1406, Angmar and Rhudaur broke the defences along the entire line. The fortress of Amon Sul was destroyed, allowing Angmar to flank Cardolan's northern defences. Cardolan bore the brunt of the attack, as its whole line began to crumble south. The whole Princedom was overrun, apart from the Barrow Downs and the forests, mainly because of the timely arrival of our reinforcements. Arveleg's son, Araphor, was a great military leader and was able to hold the Weather Hills for another 70 years, but our manpower was simply not enough to hold the hills against hordes of Orcs. The last fortress in the hills fell in 1512, allowing Orcs to come into our rich farmlands and hinterland with hardly anyone left to stop them.

I snapped to attention as a trumpet sounded and the gates of our city opened in a quick, fluid motion. Two months ago, King Arvedui and seven thousand soldiers, including three hundred Knights, had set out with the goal of recovering the Weather Hills. Four thousand heavy infantry had marched south and ascended the western slopes of the Hills while three thousand light infantry and the Knights drove a wedge into Angmar's forces and captured the eastern slopes, cutting off all reinforcements. The campaign met with stunted success. Although the heavy infantry successfully ascended the slopes a put a large portion of Angmar's forces in the hills to rout, the second force was forced to retreat after being attacked on both sides by routing Orcs and reinforcing ones. Also, the Angmar occupational army in Cardolan had rallied and marched north, attempting to cut off the men in the Hills. The heavy infantry was forced to fight their way north along the slopes, resulting in quite a few casualties on their behalf, but dealing thrice more to the enemy. Elements of the enemy followed the retreating Arthedinians to the North Downs where they were slaughtered. Overall, Angmar had lost up to eight thousand soldiers whilst our own men sustained a little over a thousand, too costly by today's standards.

This was the first military campaign that the Arthedinians had launched in sixty years. Following Araphor was his son, Argeleb II, who was a strong leader but was able to do little more than keep Angmar at bay. He also ceded lands to the Hobbits, who proved stout warriors in battle, but did little to alter the fortunes of the war. Also, in his time came the Great Plague from the south. From what I've studied, only a few hundred people in Arthedain died, but Cardolan finally faded away, the last of their people dying in whatever refuges they had left, leaving us alone against Angmar. Cardolan's destruction was a major blow to Arthedain's morale. They had been our stoic ally for so long, fighting tooth and nail against the enemy only to finally be destroyed by some fell magic from the east. After Argeleb II came Arvegil and Arveleg II, unremarkable Kings who continued to attempt to hold Angmar at bay. During Arvegil's reign, Angmar tried to drive a wedge to the Baranduin (Brandywine) and split Arthedain in half, but their army was destroyed when the King and his forces came down from Fornost, whilst the Hobbits and Breelanders came up from Breeland and the Shire, crushing the force. Arvegil then attempted to take advantage of Angmar's defeat and ordered elements of his army east along the Great East Road to destroy the corrupted Rhudaur and reach the Trollshaws, however, Angmar was quick to recuperate and successfully held the Hoarwell. Araval, Arveleg II son, was an extremely capable military leader and defeated Angmar nearly half a dozen times in quick succession. Instead of expanding east, Araval tried to expand south but a great evil had begun to dwell in the lifeless lands of Cardolan and his attempts were futile. His death resulted in a renewed Angmar assault. Araphant was a diplomatic leader, not a military one, and the lands gained by Araval were lost within ten years of his death in 1891. By 1920, Arthedain had lost control of the Great East Road and the connection between Breeland and Fornost was lost. Arvedui was able to restablish that connection, but for how long, nobody knows...

Trumpets sounded and the King, with the remainder of his Knights, rode into the boulevard, applauded by the crowds on both sides. Myself, along with over two thousand other soldiers, were stationed in front of the crowds along the boulevard. I was dressed in ornamental armour and held a long spear in one hand, an emblazoned shield in the other. The noise was nearly deafening. The cheering and applauding increased as the King himself rode past me, flanked by his sons who had just arrived from Lindon after establishing diplomatic ties. Aranarth, the eldest, and his three younger brothers, Aranir, Aravarn and Aranuir.

The campaign had been counted as a victory, considering the damage done to Angmar's forces and the portions of land that had been regained. I could make out Arvedui's face between his kingly helm, a slight smile on his face, but sorrow in the rest of his expression. I realised he knew the future as much as I did.

Chapter II: Departure

The gates swung open as we approached.

The guards look at us solemnly as we slowly stepped out into the open world, although there were still a number of houses and small communities just outside the walls themselves. There was no crowd save the families of the men with me. The only family I had lived in a small community on the shores of Evendim, looking over the lost city of Annuminas. They would be safe there, but I knew I was in denial about that...nobody was truly safe anymore.

I was sad to leave Fornost behind after spending more than 4 years in it without leaving for more than a few days. Despite the fact that our Kingdom was militarily weak and now quite territorially small, the splendour of the Kings still remained. Most of the houses in the upper quarters of the city were marble or granite, or stone cut and shined to perfection. Even the lower districts were beautiful, most of the houses were stone, and at the worst, some of the houses were well cut and decorated timber.

The King's Palace sat at the very northern end of the city, backed against a high cliff which was part of the range hills and small clefts called the North Downs. The courtyard around the palace was absolutely beautiful. Gardens and monuments lined every street. The Palace area was protected by a smaller, separate wall and lined along the inside of the walls was the statue of every past King of Arnor and Arthedain, from Elendil to Araphant. The statue of Elendil himself was in the middle of the courtyard, standing over twenty feet tall with all his known characteristics. Huge spires had been erected in several places throughout the city, some of them were even golden domed. The streets themselves were completely hardened marble in the palace district of the city, and smooth and linear cobblestone in the city proper. The city wall, which had protected us for so long, was forty feet high and made of solid stone. Towers lined the walls and the gates themselves were quite large, being plated with mithril bought from the Dwarves back in the time of King Beleg.

Now I was leaving that behind, journeying out into the unknown with nothing but a sword, shield and trust in my comrades. Ironically, I didn't even have a shield and I would be scouting ahead once we were in dangerous territory, so no comrades to protect me either. It was just me, my sword, my senses and my luck.

I wore a greenish-brown cloak over my light mail, which had been covered in a brown tunic to hide the glare it would give in the sunlight. Among my company were two heavily armed Knights on horseback, Nenuir and Agonal. The bulk of the company consisting of five infantry men, three heavy and two light, Celepharn and Celebrimbor being the heavy infantry and brothers to go with it, also among them was Grendir who was the sergeant of the company, Minas (which made me laugh as Minas simply means "Guard", true to his profession) and myself were two light infantrymen, although I was classified as a Scout. Three skilled archers accompanied us as well, Reneldil, Malvegil and Palantir (which also made me laugh).

As time passed we left the outer suburbs of Fornost completely and started to cross open land, seeing a few farms here and there. Following the rule of Araphant and the seizure of the North South Road, most farmers relocated to the land around Nenuil and some even move as far as the Lhun. Some confident farmers still remained, but the land was dangerous as Arthedain's "frontier" was little more than a few camps and stockades along the North Downs and the North South Road, although the real frontier was Fornost.

We continued south along the road for a few hours, coming across a dozen or so crudely erected fortresses, stockades and palisade camps. Arthedain's military barely mustered to a little more than fifteen thousand, a far cry of the past. Four thousand soldiers were usually stationed in Fornost, another three thousand were stationed along the downs and three thousand more were stationed along the North South Road. Three thousand more were stationed in Breeland and the remaining two thousand were scattered along throughout Arthedain. In Arvedui's latest campaign, eight thousand Orcs and Men of Angmar had been slain, although as many as thirty thousand were reported to have participated in the fighting.

We finally ventured off the road, turning southeast towards the Weather Hills which we could make out as little more than small lumps in the distance. The land between the Weather Hills and Fornost was still considered to be under Arthedinian control, however, Arthedain never extended any claim over the land apart from sending out small bands of soldiers. The land was wild and only a few secluded villages had managed to survive. Mainly, it was the haunt of Orcs and Angmarian creatures.

We entered a small gully when Grendir called for a halt. The horses were quickly tied to trees and all our supplies were laid upon the bed of the gully, the food being wrapped and mainly dried meat.

"Boys", said Grendir, "I'm sure many of you have been scouting out this far before". Most of us nodded apart from Palantir who had been stationed in the south. "Then you know that this land is both under and not under our control". We all knew what he meant. We were still technically within Arthedain's borders, but any man who considered himself safe here was a fool.

"Why the need for so much caution then, Sergeant?" asked Malvegil, "Isn't this just a routine drill?"

"Besides", continued Agonal, "Angmar is probably still licking his wounds after what we did to him last month".

"No", replied Celepharn, "I was there and trust me, Angmar is far more powerful than we know". His brother, Celebrimbor, nodded. "What you've heard are probably tales spun up by some drunken idiot in an inn that doesn't even know any of the facts about the campaign".

"Bah!" emphasized Minas. "Angmar have never thrown more than ten thousand soldiers at us at one time. We could probably march right up there and kick their arses if we wanted to".

I sighed at his arrogance.

Minas, Reneldil and Palantir looked at me.

"Stop the chatter, boys", interrupted Grendir. "Your opinions are all fine and good by me, except yours Minas, that's just stupid. But we'll find out soon enough whether Angmar is weak as a small kitten or is about to blast us into oblivion".

"I'm guessing this isn't a routine scouting trip, then", commented Nenuir.

"Are we some prelude to a major campaign?!" started Minas.

"No, to put it bluntly, we'll be travelling around the entire length of the Weather Hills and then travelling along the Great East Road before travelling north to Fornost again along the North South Road", informed Grendir.

"That'll take at least two months", calculated Celebrimbor.

"What are we looking for, sergeant?" asked Palantir.

"We're looking for information of course. On the enemy's movements since the campaign, their strength, the weather..." finished Grendir.

"Who authorized this scouting mission?" I asked.

"Prince Aranarth, the information we collect is going straight to the King".

"Well then", said Reneldil, "all is well as conversation ends and that food was definitely put there for reason..."

Chapter III: Ascension

"So these are the Weather Hills?" asked Palantir.

We stood but only a few metres away where an ancient path would lead us up the slopes and into what was once the frontier of our Kingdom.

"It's hard to believe our forefathers held these mounds for so long", said Reneldil as he glared at the slopes and what appeared to be their summit.

"This is the northern side of the Weather Hills", informed Grendir. "The range gets larger and more dangerous as you head south".

He started up the path in a semi-stooped position lest he fall backwards. The rest of us began to follow him.

The slopes were mostly barren, which was strange seeing the land surrounding it was heavily wooded. The top of the hills were lined with stands of trees, small gullies, rocky crags and the ruins of Arthedain.

"If this side is so vulnerable", grunted Celepharn as he made his way up the path. "Why did they defend the south so much?"

"Because attacking the north in a frontal assault had no strategic advantage", I said, wanting to teach these men a bit about history. "We could've just come down from the Downs and smashed them between our men and the Hills. They had to capture the south first, which would allow them to move into Cardolan, then they could push their way north along the length of the hills"

"He is correct", backed Grendir. "It took them over fifty years to conquer the Hills even after we lost Amon Sul, which men now call Weathertop, and we made them pay a bloody price for every metre they gained".

Our squad continued up the path, which was lined on either side by scraggly ferns and jutting rocks and boulders. The ground was dry as the summer rains were long since gone, leaving the Hills with a dusty, barren feeling.

We trekked up the slopes for about another hour until Grendir ordered a stop. I myself was sixth in line and could barely see Grendir myself despite being four inches above six feet. Most of us were roughly that tall, in fact, most of the Dunedain were tall which made us easy to see and not too hard to find.

I heard Grendir whisper something but couldn't make out what it was. Only then did I realise that he was passing word back down the line. Celebrimbor, who stood in front of me, turned and whispered, "Two Orcs perched on a crag up ahead".

I realised we were at the top of the Hills, or, at least the top of this slope. I noticed Grendir cautiously turn and make his way back down the line until he stopped at me.

"Ok, Mallor, you're the scout so I think this job suits you. Come with me".

I stepped out of line and followed him back up the slope. We waited there for a few minutes before our archers, Malvegil, Renedil and Palantir, made their way up and waited.

"Mallor", said Grendir, "there are Orcs ahead and they are too concealed on the crag for our archers to get a clear shot. I need you to get up there and get their attention, convince them to get down from the crag and attack you, then our boys will take them down. Challenge them, Orcs are stupid like that, they'll accept it".

"Yes, sir", I said, crouching down onto my knees.

Grendir quickly issued orders to the three archers to take their positions. Once they had done that and strung their bows in preparation, Grendir looked at me and said, "get up there now".

I took a deep breath and got up onto the flat ground. It was sort of like a small gully, except the ground didn't slope and there were two small rocky crags on either side. I spotted the Orcs on the left crag and glared at them.

"Oi!" I shouted, "come here you ugly bastards and see if you can best a cripple". I quickly made it look as if my left arm dangled uselessly at my side and I faked a limp. "Come on you dogs!"

The Orcs stood and snarled. "We ave been runnin out of food you see! I think the King has finally given us somethin good to eat".

The Orcs unsheathed their weapons, one had a decaying axe and the other had a rusting scimitar.

I drew my own sword with my right hand and slowly started stepping back. "Your head will make a good trophy", said one of the Orcs. "I'll deliver it to ya motha after we ave-".

His sentence was suddenly cut short as an arrow sped past my ear and struck him in the throat. He gargled in agony, spewing up black blood before toppling over on his side, still clawing at his throat. The other Orc realised it was an ambush and turned to run but an arrow struck him in the knee whilst a third one entered his side. He cried in agony and fell upon his knees. I deftly moved forward and with a single swipe of my sword, beheaded him.

It took a few moments before my squad finally moved up into the gully with me. "Nice job, boys", said Grendir. "Good performance, Mallor, you should consider a career in theatre after we're done with this mission. Although you're lucky one of them wasn't smart enough to use a bow though".

"You know I've never seen an Orc before", said Palantir, stepping over the body of the headless Orc, and then stepping over to its decapitated head.

"Really?" said Celebrimbor, "I thought being in the south would mean you'd see more Orcs".

"No", said Palantir, "just Hillmen and ruffians who occasionally came to plunder the villages in Breeland. We feared the Wights more than the Orcs".

"Wights?" said Minas.

"Dark spirits who have possessed the buried dead in the Barrow Downs", answered Grendir. "It is an abomination to all living things, even the Orcs don't go near them. Rumour is that the Last Prince of Cardolan has been risen to guard the Barrows for the Witch King".

"Stop looking at the Orc head, Palantir", joked Malvegil, "or you'll turn into one".

Palantir bent over and grabbed the Orc head by its sparse and stringy hair, swung it around once and then hurled it down the slope. All of us started laughing, except Agonal.

"Guys", said Agonal, "you can see miles in every direction from here". I turned and notice he was standing on the crag, only a few metres from where the Orcs cookfire was. "I thought these hills would be swarming. There is no one here".

"Yes", said Grendir, "I guessed that when we got up here. From past experiences I've learnt that there should've been at least twenty Orcs guarding a path like this. Something is happening". He paused. "We'll rest here for a while, then Agonal and Nenuir can go back down and bring up the horses, then we continue".

Chapter IV: Minas Formir

We all huddled together in a small ditch near the citadel of Minas Formir.

I'd read about Minas Formir in my early years. Just like Amon Sul was the linchpin in the southern defenses of the Weather Hills, Minas Formir (Tower of the Northern Jewel) was the linchpin in the north. It was strategically important as it was the main staging point for the forces in the northern end of the Hills. Historically, Minas Formir fell to Angmar in 1512 TA, the last of the Arthedinian fortress' to be overcome in the hills. The fortress was so great in its glory that when it fell, nearly ten thousand Orcs died to a garrison of little more than two thousand. The two thousand man garrison managed to cut their way out of the gates inflicting and dealing heavy losses in the process to the Orcs. It was a victory and a defeat, nearly annihilating an Angmarian army but with the loss of a great fortress in the process.

Now here we stood, only a few dozen metres from one of the greatest fortress' Arnor had ever raised. But this is where I was hurt the most. I'd seen paintings done of Minas Formir, high walls, white towers and stone bridges connecting the walls and the citadel. We had already passed the outer walls, at least, what was left of them. Most of the walls had collapsed, leaving piles of rubble in a number of places which also made it easy to pass the walls without being seen. The ten of us had passed through, only alerting a half a dozen guards to our presence, which was of course, by killing them. The horses had been let back down the hills as they had begun to prove a nuisance in the rocky terrain.

The citadel itself was a large circular dome, although now large holes had been knocked into the walls and roof, leaving piles of crumbled rock in several places on the outside. Two roads led into the citadel, one from the north and a second from the south, largely intact but still in disrepair. The Orcs seemed to care little of their possessions.

It was near midnight, which was obvious as the moon was high in the sky, but was largely concealed under the clouds and barely gave a reflection which proved good for our invisibility.

"Why did we come this close?" whispered Reneldil, with a harsh tone to his voice. "There is nothing for us here except death!"

"I say we reclaim the fortress in the name of Arthedain", suggested Minas, "there can't be anymore than a few hundred Orcs around this place. We can divide and conquer them".

"And they can divide and conquer us", countered Nenuir. "Besides, even if we did capture it, how would we hold it? Do you even think before you say these things, Minas?"

"Let me remind you all that this is a scouting mission", cut in Grendir, "we have come here to collect information if any is to be found. I can assure you our departure from this place will be before dawn".

"There is quite a lot we can recover here apart from the fortress itself", chimed in Celebrimbor.

"Remain quiet, all of you!" whispered Grendir.

So for the next hour we sat in the dirt, cold, tired and hungry. Grendir constantly kept assuring us that we would be leaving soon and then we would eat, rest and keep warm. No one complained, for our own safety and our devotion to our Sergeant. He was a true Dunedain, dark hair, grey eyes, very diplomatic but fell when in anger. But finally, his gamble paid off.

"Look!" said Palantir, "men on the road!"

I pulled myself up to get a better look and sure enough, a dozen or so figures were approaching for the northern road. I suddenly sat as I realised one of them was carrying a torch, nearly illuminating the entire group.

"Ok", said Grendir, "everyone try and get as good a look as possible as they walk past".

The group of figures continued up the path and I could finally start making them out when they were a little less than thirty metres away. A tall Orc, dressed in relatively clean armour strode side by side with a man wearing red robes that concealed him completely. Upon his face was a dreadful mask. Behind him stood two huge humans wearing near black armour, whilst the rest of the party were Orcs who looked a lot different from the average Orcs.

I heard Grendir inhale sharply.

"Welcome to Coldrag", said the tall Orc with a slight stutter. "We weren't expecting you to be coming this early? We were told you wouldn't be here for another dozen years".

"There have been certain changes in Carn Dum you will soon be aware of, General Gazrug", said the figure in red, his voice deep and terrifying. "I have come here to help you prepare for the assault on Fornost".

"I can assure you, Lord Morithil", said the General Gazrug, who I had now identified as the large Orc, "we will not need your assistance, I can assure you all is well in the Hills".

"It is not yours to decide, General", replied Morithil, obviously the person in red. "Besides, think of my arrival as a gift, not of assistance".

"Gift?" stuttered Gazrug.

"The High King has been pleased with your services to the Iron Crown", assured Morithil. "The next year be very draining for Angmar, Gazrug, it would do you well to accept my arrival with gratitude".

"I don't really have a choice in this anyway", said Gazrug. He sighed, "I live to serve the Iron Crown, if it is his will you come here, then it is my will".

"Good", said Morithil, "it seems all these years on the frontier have not addled your senses. Also, inform the guards I have my acolytes down the road, they should be here shortly".

The rest of their conversation was lost on me as they approached the fortress. Without hesitation, the Orcs at the large doors into the citadel yelled for them to be opened and they swung open after a brief groan. The party of Orcs and Men disappeared inside the Citadel.

"Ok, so now we know Angmar is going to attack us", said Minas, "now we better go to Fornost and tell the King".

"Why?" said Celebrimbor.

"Why?!" said Minas in disbelief, "so we can inform the King that he has to crush yet another foolish assault from Angmar".

"Anyone with eyes and ears has heard this news before", said Grendir to Minas. "Everyone has known for the past twenty years that Angmar's final assault is coming soon".

"Coming soon?" argued Minas. "We just crushed their entire army in the field! How can they possibly raise another army within the next twenty years to finish us!?"

"They can", replied Grendir. "We only defeated a portion of Angmar's army. There has only been one time in history where they've thrown their entire army at us". He paused and then looked at me, "Mallor, you're a smart young man, care to explain".

I sighed and looked at Minas, whom was now staring at me. "In 1406, Angmar launched an assault with the goal of overunning all of Eriador and destroying both Cardolan and Arthedain. Three armies left Angmar, all with different purposes. Two went south and surrounded Amon Sul, whilst a third went east and laid siege upon the Elven haven of Imladris. Amon Sul was conquered, and destroyed, allowing Angmar to engage the main Cardolani army which was driven back to Tyrn Gorthad with heavy loss, the Last Prince of Cardolan fell in the retreat. The other army went north where it joined with the army that had been defeated at Imladris. They joined and attacked the Downs, where with help from Lindon, they were defeated. Once free from Angmar's armies, Arthedain sent reinforcements down to Cardolan where they successfully held out in Tyrn Gorthad".

"A victory nonetheless", countered Minas.

"A pyrrhic victory that was barely won at great loss", said Grendir. "Anyway, enough of this subject, Mallor, who was the man in the red robe".

I thought for a second, searching my mind for knowledge of the man, but found nothing. I simply shook my head in confusion.

"Sergeant, I know who we was", said Celebrimbor. "He is a Dread Lord of Angmar, probably one of the Lesser Ones, but one nonetheless. They have been part of Angmar since it first formed over 700 years ago as they are the Witch King's lieutenants and most trusted servants. There were twenty of them in 1300 TA, but now there are only twelve left, the other eight have perished in the wars against us. He is a very important man to Angmar".

I nodded in approval. It appears I wasn't the only person in the company who shared a keen interest in history and war.

"700 years!" said Reneldil. "That is impossible! I have known no person who has lived that long, apart from Elves of course".

"He is a Black Numenorean", informed Grendir, "he keeps himself alive through dark sorcery, probably with the help of his acolytes. By killing him we'll be doing a great deed for Arthedain, and possibly stalling Angmar's assault". Suddenly his eyebrows rose. "Everyone, get up, we head back down the road to the Acolytes, they are our keys for getting inside".

"Getting inside?" said Agonal with anxiety in his voice but his question trailed off. In a few seconds, the company was heading down the road.

"Everyone make sure any jutting weapons are kept on your person", informed Grendir.

A few minutes later, we were waiting behind a pile of rocks on either side of the road, watching as the group of Acolytes, twelve of them, started ascending the gentle slope towards us. They were only metres away when Grendir stepped out from behind his hiding place.

"You are surrounded", he said, trying to sound demanding without raising his voice so the scouts at Minas Formir would be alerted . "Give up the robes and the dark arts and we will let you go in peace". The acolytes stopped, all of them were dressed in grey robes, although they did not wear masks. I could make out a few of their faces, expressionless, some were Dunedain, some Hillmen and some appeared to be men from the east.

Suddenly the lead Acolyte drew a knife from his person and leapt at Grendir, and all his fellows followed suit by drawing their weapons.

"Bloody fanatics!" cried Grendir as he unlimbered his heavy two-handed greatsword. "Dunedain! Attack!"

I unsheathed my sword and leapt upon the boulder just as my comrades leapt out from their hiding places. The first fanatic who had leapt at Grendir was quickly dispatched by a thrusting blow through the dress.

I jumped down in front of an acolyte who leapt at me, screaming in a dreadful tongue I could not understand. I withdrew my own dagger and blocked his incoming blow with my sword. I quickly twisted my arm and forced his arm down whilst reaching forward with my dagger and stabbing him in the throat. He fell to the ground with nothing more than a sigh.

I turned around and watched the massacre ensue. Nearly all of the acolytes were dead, and our men had sustained nothing more than a bruise. I saw one acolyte unengaged and stepped forward, but an arrow sped past me and struck the acolyte in the chest, sending him flying through the air.

I turned and saw Malvegil grin at me, and I was also just in time to see Reneldil release his own arrow. I turned back and saw Reneldil's arrow take out another acolyte. A few seconds later, they were all dead.

Grendir started to go through the bodies and started pulling away the robes and placing them in a pile. I noticed he only chose ten, because the wearers of the other two robes had been beheaded,r ruining the robe in the process. "The rest of you, begin disposing of the bodies. Just drop them behind the boulders".

"Shouldn't we give them a burial?" asked Palantir.

"Burial? They have forsaken their own race for dark arts and foul practices", replied Grendir, "besides, we don't have enough time".

I walked over to the nearest body, the acolyte Malvegil had killed, hoisted him over my shoulder and proceeded to put him in the ditch behind the boulders. I then picked up the robe Grendir had gestured for me and carefully put it over myself. It had a few small bloodstains on it, but small enough not to be noticed at night.

Within a few minutes, all of us were dressed in robes and ready to ascend to the fortress. "Ok, men, keep your wits about you and don't make any sudden moves, act normal and casual".

We walked up the hill and came within sight of the fortress. Upon seeing us, some of the guards at the gate came down and greeted us.

"Ello", said the first man, who I realised was a human, flanked by Orcish companions. "I was told you was to be a-coming from down there. You look slightly ruffled up", noting several tears in some of the robes, "hard trip, eh?"

"I am sorry, sir", said Grendir in a heavy monotone. "My master forbids us in engaging in conversation".

"Oh", said the man, slightly disappointed. "not many people come around here ya know, not many people to talk to. Orcs aren't very good conversation ya see, always goin on about bloodlust, I don't know how they can stand it, makes me sick to the stomach it does. When I've got meself enough money I will be going a-back home to the hills where I belong, I don't like this fighting". His rant ended. The Orc next to him grunted.

We approached the gate which opened as we neared it. We stepped inside the fortress, and what we could see was a short corridor, a large shut door at one end and a few torches that hugged the walls.

"Well, welcome to the fort as they say", said the man, "I'll be escorting you to ya master-..."

Chapter V: Gamble

The man stopped as the doors closed with a large banging sound.

Grendir suddenly swept aside his robe and withdrew his sword, stepping forward and delivering a clean blow to the first Orc. The other Orc, realising what was going on, turned and shouted out at the top of his voice which was only ended when Nenuir stepped forward and severed his head.

I heard the sound of steel clattering against stone and I turned to see the Hillman back against the wall, hands raised, with both Celepharn and Agonal holding him at sword point.

"Dunedain!" said the man, sweat dripping down his face. "The elders always told me you were tall, though I'd never thought I'd seen it. You learn-". Agonal suddenly stepped forward and clamped his hand over the Hillman's mouth.

The door leading out into the open was being banged upon.

"Oi, what's going on in there!" cried a voice, obviously that of an Orc's. "You better not be mucking about on duty, we have special guests!"

"You!" said Agonal, obviously meaning the Hillman, "open the doors and tell them everything is fine".

"Alright, sir", said the Hillman, "I'll do as you say".

"Betray us and there will be an arrow in the back of your skull without delay", threatened Grendir. "Reneldil, Malvegil, Palantir, get at the back and have yours bows at ready. The rest of you, against the wall, be ready for a fight".

Agonal shoved the Hillman towards the door. The man stumbled forward, and put his palms on either side of the doors, turned and glanced at us one more time. Hesitantly, he began to push the doors open so there was little more than a fifty centimetre wide space for us to see the Orcs.

"What's all the racket?" said the leading Orc, there were easily at last half a dozen of them from what I could tell.

"Nothing at all, sir", said the Hillman. "Everything is fine". I looked at the back of the room and noticed our archers still held tensed with their bowstrings.

"Well then, let me see for myself", snarled the Orc.

"The acolytes wish for them to not be disturbed", replied the Hillman.

"I don't care what the scum wish for, human maggot!" shouted the Orc as he pushed aside the Hillman and stepped in. He barely had time to look around as Palantir's arrow went through is eye.

My guess was incorrect, there were eight Orcs and three of them, their leader included were dead before they could properly gauge the situation. The other five tried to step in over the bodies of their comrades but two more were dropped before they could properly get inside. Another Orc tripped over the bodies of his comrades, whilst the other two turned to flee.

Suddenly the Hillman picked up his blade and ran through one of the Orc's as it turned and swung a roundhouse blow at the other Orc who lost an arm. The Hillman was about to finish him off when the fallen Orc grabbed him by the leg and dragged him down. The wounded Orc stumbled away into the darkness, screaming in high pitched tones while Minas ran up and delivered the Orc a death blow.

Grendir strode over to the carnage and lifted the Hillman from the ground. "You've earned your life", he said in an angry tone. "Leave, don't come back to this land with evil intentions. Live your life in peace, that's how the Valar would've intended it".

The Hillman nodded and bolted out the door. In the distant, the sounds of howling Orcs began to grow louder.

"Bah, the alarm is raised and within a few minutes this place will be crawling with Orcs", growled Grendir.

"We need to escape now!" shouted Agonal.

"No, I finish what I came here for", said Grendir.

He stepped over to the door at the other end of the hallway. We all gathered around to see what the Sergeant had in mind.

"The door is barred, everyone put some muscle into it!" cried Grendir and at once, the other nine of us smashed forward into the door. It resisted for less than a second, and then the whole middle of it fell apart, leaving a large entrance into the next room.

We all hesitated for a few seconds before walking inside. And what I saw inside was once the splendour of the Kings of Old.

A large room, pillars holding the dome ceiling which was covered in carvings and glyphs. The pillars themselves were also lined with carvings and formed a circle around the room, leaving a large circular flat table built into the floor itself in the middle. In the middle of the table was one large pillar which rotated slowly, moving the entire dome and all the other pillars with it. It was truly amazing.

But years of being part of Angmar's domain had defiled it. Holes had been punched into the ceiling, dust and cobwebs had an abode in nearly every corner of the room and some of the carvings had been changed to resemble demonic creatures.

I looked at the table and there they stood. Gazrug and the Dread Lord, Morithil, stood upon the table, Gazrug with a huge axe on his shoulder, and Morithil, so far unarmed but I knew he hid something. Around the table were a line of Orcs and more were tricking in from the other side of the chamber. At least thirty of them were already in the room.

"Perfect...", whispered Agonal.

"Surrender or die, Morithil", cried Grendir. "Your Orcs are no match for us!"

Morithil cackled in delight. "How wonderful! The Dunedain have finally come to serve us! The Orcs are no match for you but I assure you that I am more than a match".

"I would think it more our right to send you surrender terms, humans", said Gazrug. "There are more than five hundred Orcs in this fortress and the surrounding area, more of them will arrive by the minute".

"Grendir, be quick if you wish to engage them", cautioned Celebrimbor, "a quick victory is our only chance of escape".

"I know what I am doing", assured Grendir.

"You better", said Agonal, "I didn't serve Arthedain to die in futility".

"We will never serve you, Dread Lord!" challenged Grendir. "Not even in death!"

"Really?" replied Morithil, "But when you are dead you will have no control over yourself. You will be a puppet. But you'll have to rot for a little while. Oh, my poor Acolytes, you will pay for their demise".

"Morithil!" cried Grendir. "I challenge you to a duel!"

"What the hell is he doing!" said Minas, "Why not fight our way out while we still can?"

"He's up to something", replied Malvegil.

"Very well", said Morithil with a serious tone in his voice. "Name your terms".

"If you win, I die, my comrades will have to fight their way out and you keep my soul in death", replied Grendir, his voice never faltering. "If I win, we get to leave, General Gazrug will be executed and you will be dead of course".

"I shall enjoy your soul", said Morithil, "I accept your terms. General?"

Gazrug hesitated, his mouth opening and then shutting, only to open again and say, "I have full faith in you, Morithil".

"Very well, let us begin", said the Dread Lord, suddenly withdrawing a sword from his robes and stepping forward. As he stepped forward his robe was gradually shaken off until it fell to the ground, allowing us to see the man underneath. He still wore the mask, and his entire body was covered in black armour, menacing with spikes and demonic marks all over it.

Grendir, his sword already at hand stepped forward within a few seconds, both of them raised their swords to engage. The two blades clashed together and nearly instantly withdrew, only to clash again in another motion. The duel continued for minutes as more and more Orcs poured into the chamber.

Suddenly Grendir stepped back and thrust forwards with his blade, aiming to catch Morithil in the stomach. The Dread Lord was not fooled and stepped to the side, smashing Grendir's blade down with his own and then swinging it across to behead him. Grendir ducked under the blow, turned and threw his fist at Morithil's face. The blow struck with full effect and the mask went clattering to the floor.

Morithil roared and turned, facing us, the Arthedinians. I stared at his face in terror. It wasn't disfigured, mutilated or unhuman...it...looked like...mine. Not exactly like mine, but just your normal, average Dunedain. It was disconcerting that a person that looked so normal could be so evil.

Grendir suddenly took advantage of the moment and struck Morithil over the head with the hilt of his blade. The man fell to his knees and Grendir prepared for the killer blow when Gazrug cried out and stepped forward, two handed axe in his hands.

The Orcish General raised the axe above his head and Grendir prepared for the blow. Suddenly Morithil stirred on the floor and produced a dagger which he leapt at Grendir with. He tried to step aside but his reaction was too slow and the dagger struck him in the side. Gazrug pushed Morithil aside and stood over Grendir, who could do nothing.

Suddenly I saw an arrow pass over Grendir and struck Gazrug in the shoulder. He stumbled back and in that moment, we charged. I raised my sword and shouted, "Long Live Arnor! For Arthedain!" I don't know why I said it but everyone else repeated it as they ran. Suddenly the mass of Orcs at the other end of the surged forward to engage us.

As I ran past Gazrug I swapped my blade to my left hand and in a deft movement, cut a deep gash into the Orc's neck. He fell forward onto his knees, gurgling, trying to stop the blood from pouring from his neck.

I ignored his death throes and continued on. I leapt upon the table and ran across it, accompanied by Malvegil, Celebrimbor and Palantir while the other four of us went around the table, Grendir still lay on the ground. I leapt off as I neared the edge, swinging my sword in a circular motion and feeling it cleave through at least four Orcs. A spray of black blood emerged from my position. All of our initial engagements had similar effects. Within the first ten seconds of combat, nearly twenty Orcs lay dead or dying.

We were pushing them back, despite being outnumbered nearly five to one. Masses of them were being cut down in swathes as they lacked the organisation to assemble into a fighting force. An Orc could not swing his blade without the risk of killing his comrade, while we could not swing our blade without killing one of them. I hacked and slashed in any direction without fearing that an Orc would strike back as they were simply to bunched together and uncoordinated. Some of the Orcs in the front rows began to turn and run back, but tripped over their comrades in the attempt.

The battle was turning into a slaughter as the Orcs tried to flee and escape. Those that tried to fight were knocked back by their own comrades and trampled. The Orcs were in a mass rout, and soon, the entire living filth had fled from the chamber, leaving only their dead behind, two thirds of their original number.

"A wonderful effort!" said a familiar voice.

We all turned and saw Morithil standing atop the table. "You have done me a great thing. I remember how I can control the living? Yes, well I now remind you I can control the dead". He raised his arms, producing a deadly green light from them. Then I heard movement behind me.

The corpses were twitching...


End file.
